“You want to give me a massage on a picnic table?” I asked him, mostly sarcastically.
“Sure,” came the immediate reply.
“Elliot—”
“Would it help?”
“I mean, yeah, probably?” My neck flushed with more than just the summer heat. “But you don’t have to?—”
“Go sit,” he told me.
I limped my way to the nearest table, carefully sitting on the bench. At least the sun was warm against my back, helping to ease the cramping a little.
I wasn’t sure how I felt about Elliot agreeing to give me a massage at a picnic table at a rest stop on Highway 64 in the middle of Indiana. On the one hand, yes, please. On the other… We were in the middle of Indiana of a highway at a rest stop frequented by everyone from cops to truckers to families on summer vacation. And I wasn’t sure what kind of reaction we’d get.
Not that Elliot was ever inclined to let that stop him. Nor did I ever want it to. I might feel self-conscious, but I wasn’t going to not hold his hand or accept a kiss from him, no matter who was watching.
At least, not so far. I didn’t know what I was going to do—or not want to do—once we were back in Appalachian Virginia. About anything, not just how much public displaying of affection I was willing to engage in with Elliot.
But there were probably seven hours between here and there. Seven too-short hours.
I really,reallydidn’t want to go back to rural Virginia.
I felt Elliot’s hands on my shoulders, strong fingers digging into muscle and tendon. I let out a soft grunt of pleasure as he worked at the knots and tension.
Normally, a massage from Elliot would end in a very not-family-friendly sort of way. Of course, they also didn’t usually happen at rest stops off highway 64 when I was an absolute wreck about where we were going and why.
So as much as I loved the feel of Elliot’s hands on me, this was literally just him working out some of the pain so that we could get back into the car and keep driving.
That didn’t stop him from leaning forward as his hands worked at my lumbar spine, pressing a kiss to the sweaty back of my neck.
“You know I love you, baby.” His lips moved against sun-warmed skin.
I nodded.
One thumb dug into a stubborn ache, and I grunted, the knot giving way under the strength of his fingers, stripping away some of the pain and leaving the muscles feeling tender and vulnerable.
“Nothing is going to make me stop loving you,” he whispered. “Not your past, not something you say in the heat of emotion,nothing. You understand?”
I nodded again, feeling tear tracks cool on my cheeks as they spilled out of my eyes.
“I want to make you happy, if I can,” he continued softly. “To ease your pain, if I can. To show you every day how much you mean to me.”
I gulped around a sob, and Elliot’s hands stopped their massaging to wrap around my waist. I let myself lean back into him, letting him pull me into his steady strength.
“You do make me happy,” I mumbled messily. “This is just…”
I felt him press a kiss to the side of my head. “Fucked up?” he suggested.
“Yeah.”
“Can I keep holding you for a few more minutes?”
I nodded, closing a hand around his arm. “Please.”
It was dark,and I could see the tension in Elliot’s shoulders as he navigated through the climbs and turns of Appalachia. We’d been in West Virginia for the last two hours, and had just crossed into Virginia itself.
The GPS told us we had an hour and a half until we’d arrive at the Howard Johnson in Staunton, which was the closest actual city to Swoope and the Community’s enclave, such as it was.Humbolt’s office was in Staunton, and that’s where we had to be at nine the next morning.
